A story about trees | Opinion
A New Mexico Christmas: Where Snow-Covered Mountains Meet the Spirit of Giving
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My earliest memories are painted in the vibrant hues of a New Mexico Christmas. Like many families in our region, our mestizo ancestors journeyed from the high desert, over the Sierra, and into the mountain valleys we’ve called home as long before these lands were part of the United States.
It wasn’t just the twinkling luminarias, the sweet scent of biscochitos, or the snow-dusted ristras that made Christmas magical. It was the entire experience, deeply rooted in the traditions of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Our family somehow transcended the processions of Nuestra Señora, Las Posadas, Midnight Masses, and Matachines dances that were customary to the region. in my young eyes, we were the most festive family on the entire red earth.
One of my most cherished memories is of “Santa’s Workshop,” a small space next to la casita de Tío Levi. It was always cold, coming alive when someone switched on New Mexico Public Radio and a ranchera song crackled through the air. The aroma of strong coffee mingled with the fresh scent of evergreens and the dry logs of fir,pine,and spruce burning in the woodstove – a smell distinctly “Nuevo México in the winter.”
I was too small to see the flurry of activity on the workbenches, so I focused on the feet of my tías, diligently pressing a pedal every few minutes to secure freshly-cut pine boughs around a frame. This frame,the grand shape of a christmas wreath,would soon be adorned with arm-lengths of garland piling up on the floor beside me.
“Wow,” I’d think, “they are making so many Christmas gifts for others.” These wreaths,made with love,would grace doors throughout the region.
But the primos and I couldn’t linger in Santa’s Workshop for long. We were too much of a distraction for the adults, and besides, we had endless amounts of snow to conquer.
We’d race past the men hauling in branches and my bisabuela’s abandoned adobe, Doloritas, named after the woman who inspired my own name, Lola. We’d quickly pull on oversized leather work gloves and one of Grandpo’s quilted flannels, smelling strongly of cattle and gasoline.
Crossing the frozen river, we’d climb the snowy mountainside, an inflated tire tube in hand. Swimming in my clothes, a little Lola Bear would gaze up in awe at the towering pines. “Wow,” I’d think, “a whole forest full of Christmas trees…”
But the trees held so much more than memories…
A Forest’s Embrace: Remembering the Mountains That Shaped Us
The scent of pine needles and woodsmoke still lingers in my memory, a potent reminder of the lifeblood that flowed through our small mountain community. Growing up nestled in the shadow of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, the forest wasn’t just a backdrop; it was our provider, our protector, and the very essence of our existence.
Our humble adobe homes, built with timber harvested from the surrounding slopes, stood as testaments to the forest’s generosity. The intricate carvings adorning our little church, each one a legacy passed down through generations, spoke of the artistry born from the heart of the woods.
The forest provided warmth in the form of ocote logs, fueling the stoves that cooked our tortillas and chased away the mountain chill. It sheltered the animals that sustained us, their tracks etched into the earth, a silent language understood by my uncle, a skilled hunter who knew the mountains like the back of his hand.
Even our medicine came from the forest. Oshá del sierra tea,Vicks vapor Rub,and a fervent prayer were our trusted remedies,a potent combination that healed every ailment.
But the forest’s most profound gift was its protection. It held the water that quenched our thirst,its roots anchoring the soil,preventing the mountain streams from turning into raging torrents.Then came the fire. A relentless inferno that swept through the mountains, leaving behind a scar on the landscape and a gaping hole in our hearts.
The flames devoured everything in their path, leaving behind only charred remnants of the life we knew.We lost our homes, our possessions, everything except the clothes on our backs.
The devastation was immense, but the spirit of our community remained unbroken. We rebuilt, slowly and painstakingly, drawing strength from the memory of the forest that had sustained us for generations.
HESCO flood barriers now stand sentinel along the riverbanks, a stark reminder of the destructive power of nature. But even in the face of such loss, the mountains still hold a magic that draws us back.
The scent of pine needles still evokes a sense of peace, a connection to something larger than ourselves. The memory of the forest, with its towering pines and whispering streams, remains etched in our souls, a testament to the enduring power of nature and the resilience of the human spirit.
And as the snow falls on the mountains, blanketing the landscape in a pristine white, I am reminded of the simple joy of childhood, of sledding down snowy slopes and building snowmen with my cousins.
We would race past the men hauling branches, past my great-grandmother’s abandoned adobe, our laughter echoing through the crisp mountain air.
We would bundle up in oversized gloves and my grandfather’s flannel,the scent of cattle and gasoline clinging to the fabric,and climb the snowy mountainside,our hearts filled with the boundless energy of youth.
Looking up at the towering pines, I would marvel at their majesty, their branches laden with snow, each one a silent sentinel guarding the secrets of the mountains.
“Wow,” I would think, “a whole forest full of Christmas trees…”
But the trees held so much more than just memories. They held the stories of our ancestors, the whispers of the wind through the leaves, the echoes of laughter and tears.They were the heart and soul of our community, and their loss was a wound that would take generations to heal.
the fire may have taken our homes, but it could never extinguish the spirit of the mountains that flowed through our veins. We are the children of the forest, and its memory will forever be etched in our hearts.
mountain Valley Mourns Loss of Forest, Finds Resilience in Wake of Disaster
The once-lush forests of our mountain valley were more than just trees; they were the very fabric of our lives. We built our homes from the sturdy ocote pine, using the wood for everything from the latias and vigas that formed the structure to the ornate corbels adorning our little iglesia. The warmth of the ocote logs fueled our stoves,and the hot iron would then be used to cook the tortillas that sustained us.
The forest was a sanctuary for the animals that provided us with sustenance, their huellas, or tracks, familiar to generations of hunters. It also held the medicinal plants that, along with prayer, cured any ailment. Oshá del sierra tea and Vicks Vapor Rub were our undisputed magic remedies.
But the trees did more than just provide for our physical needs; they protected our very lives. They filtered our drinking water, ensuring its purity. We never fully understood their role in mitigating floods until the day the forest was gone.
The destruction of the trees led to the alarming contamination of our water supply,affecting thousands. Then came the rains. What would have been a manageable amount of water in the mountains, miles away, became a catastrophic flood, sweeping away three of our neighbors.
In the wake of the disaster, HESCO flood barriers replaced the desperate walls of sandbags we had hastily erected. Now, every adobe home with a mountain backdrop has a military compound aesthetic. But we are eternally grateful for these barriers, for they allow us to sleep a little easier when the rain drums on our tin roofs.
The loss of our forest was a devastating blow, but it also revealed the strength and resilience of our community. We have learned to adapt, to find new ways to protect ourselves and our way of life. And though the scars of the disaster remain, so too does our hope for the future.
Memories Woven in Wood and Flame: An Interview with Lola Bear
Newsdicrectory3.com:
Today on Newsdicrectory3.com, we’re joined by Lola Bear, whose poignant memoir “A New Mexico Christmas: Where Snow-Covered Mountains Meet the Spirit of Giving,” paints a vivid portrait of life in a small mountain community. Lola, thank you for joining us.
Lola Bear:
Its a pleasure to be here.
Newsdicrectory3.com:
Your memoir beautifully captures the essence of a New Mexico Christmas, blending the warmth of family tradition with the awe-inspiring grandeur of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Can you tell us about the importance of these mountains in shaping your childhood memories?
Lola Bear:
The mountains where more than just a scenic backdrop; thay were a vital part of our lives. Our homes were built from their timber, our food came from the land they cradled, and the forest itself provided medicine and protection. We were intrinsically connected to their rhythms.
Newsdicrectory3.com:
You paint a picture of a strong community, one united by shared traditions and a deep respect for the natural world. can you elaborate on the importance of community in navigating the joys and challenges of life in the mountains?
Lola Bear:
Community is the heart and soul of mountain life. We celebrated together, grieved together, and supported each other through thick and thin. When the forest fire ravaged our community, that bond became our lifeline. We rebuilt together, brick by brick, fueled by a shared spirit of resilience and hope.
Newsdicrectory3.com:
The fire is a heartbreaking element of your story. How did this experience impact your relationship with the mountains and the community?
Lola Bear:
The fire left a deep scar on both the landscape and our hearts. It was a stark reminder of our vulnerability, but it also showcased the enduring strength of our community. While we lost physical possessions, we gained a profound recognition for the things that truly matter: our connection to each other and the indomitable spirit of the human heart.
Newsdicrectory3.com:
What is the message you hope readers will take away from your memoir?
Lola Bear:
Ultimately, my story is about the enduring power of community, the importance of preserving our natural heritage, and the resilience of the human spirit in the face of adversity.
Newsdicrectory3.com:
Lola Bear, thank you for sharing your powerful and deeply personal story with us. We encourage our readers to pick up a copy of “A New Mexico Christmas: Where Snow-Covered Mountains Meet the Spirit of Giving” and experience the beauty and complexity of life in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.
Lola Bear:
Thank you.
Newsdicrectory3.com:
You can find “A New Mexico Christmas: Where Snow-Covered Mountains Meet the Spirit of Giving” at all major booksellers.